The Perfect Widow
by tesmor
Summary: The struggle a broken young, widowed Bella while endures watching the coffin with half of her heart lower itself six feet under.


Her daughter's hand she held, her unborn baby's bump she rubbed. But Bella didn't rub her abdomen because she was aware of the child slowly growing inside of her, no. She rubbed her stomach to soothe the feeling of dread and nausea she felt as she stared down at her late husband's grave.

Two hundred and nineteen hours prior to this moment, Bella was happily waking up next to her husband, where she pulled him from his deep slumber and made love to him in their bed. She lay on the mattress contentedly, smiling at the life she was living, wishing for nothing to ever change. Her duty as wife was paid as she kissed her husband goodbye before he left for his usual day of work, and she stayed at home and cared for the beautiful girl she had birthed three years ago. Bella knew that what she had was considered perfect, and though growing up she had never once believed anything could be perfect, she believed she was living it now. If Bella knew anything, it was this.

But what Bella didn't know was that her husband would never return to their perfect life, to live in their perfect house and to live like a perfect family. That, that morning when she made love to him in their bed and kissed him goodbye before he left for his usual day of work, would be the last time she was to ever see him. Touch him, feel him, kiss him. That the beloved car they had both come so attached to would be the cause of all the excruciating pain that Bella was overcome with. So now, Bella knew nothing.

She knew nothing about what was to happen now, because at the ripe age of only twenty-one, Bella was still in most ways naïve. Thrown into playing house at eighteen, Bella had never faced the outside world on her own – never conquered difficult situations everyone her age already had. Because Bella had never been alone like she was now. Had never felt so deprived of the support she wanted and needed. The support of her mother, father, brother or sister could never compare to the support of the father of her child, the love of her life.

Coming from a family of wealth and power, Bella would never have to worry about money. She was almost certain that if she were to somehow run out of the continuous flow of money that she had always been provided with that her parents would, without hesitation, supply her with more than she needed. But money was nothing to Bella. Sure, it had always been a privilege she had taken advantage of, but she would trade all the money she had and was to ever earn if it meant getting her other half back.

As tears slid down Bella's blotchy red cheeks, she lifted her head to the sky and for a second forgot all the pain she felt in her chest that was threatening to over-take her. She wondered what she would make for dinner that night, and played the scene through in her head. She imagined getting home and preparing the food she would set on the table while watching her daughter buoyently play with her toys. Imagined seeing him walk through the door with a wide, happy grin on his face. Imagined he would give her a chaste kiss before sitting down at the head of the table and dig into the feast laid out before him. After tea they would sit together as a family in front of the fire, doing nothing but enjoying the company of one another. She would remind him how much she loved him, and he would do the same. They would tuck their daughter in and lie in each other's arms until they fell into a peaceful sleep. And everything would be okay, because they were together. But as the wicked winter air ripped through Bella's body, sending a rough shudder down her spine, she knew nothing would ever be okay again.

She would never be okay without hearing those three words roll from his lips.

_I love you._

She would never be okay without being reminded that she mattered.

_I love you._

Because only _he_ could say those three words.

_I love you._

Only _he _could make things better. But _he_ wasn't here.

Soon Bella would have to appear at the afternoon tea she was expected to be present at. Where people she neither knew nor cared for would pay their respects, and give her dishes of food like lasagne. Bella hated lasagne. A bad experience with it as a child had put her off the meal forever. She refused to eat it even when _he_ had cooked it for her on an early dinner date, unaware of her utter hatred for the dish.

It had been an hour since the burial had come to an end, yet Bella had not moved from the spot where she had watched the coffin descend into the earth. After awkward hovering, all guests, excluding Bella and her daughter, had moved into the Church, leaving the fragile woman and disconcerted child to mourn on their own. But no matter how many hours she spent standing, sitting, laying in front of the marble stone, it would never bring him back, no matter how much she wished it could.

Bella had nothing but the six years of friendship and three years of marriage to remember him by. Even her daughter held too many of her own features to remind her of him. So until she discovered the miracle within her, Bella would have to lifelessly survive in her own cruel reality.

Her daughter's hand she held, her unborn baby's bump she rubbed. The feeling of dread and nausea did not dwindle after she walked away from her late husband's grave, nor did it seem to fade as she was told the word 'sorry' countless times. She held her middle not because she was aware of the baby slowly growing inside of her, but because of the feeling of emptiness that had buried itself in her chest, just like her husband had been buried in the ground.

Yet Bella ignored the pain, the suffering, the loneliness, and acted like the flawless, impeccable woman everyone thought she was. As the woman with no husband and her second child on the way, Bella played the part of the perfect widow. But Bella's belief from growing up was now the only thing she would ever believe in again; nothing could ever be perfect.

* * *

**Reduced to a one-shot - a plaster over the seal and the place in my heart where this came from. **

**Thank you so much for all the support y'all have given this wee story. Maybe one day I'll find it in me to finish something longer.  
**

**Until then,**

**Tessa.**


End file.
